Utter Frustration and Irritation Never Made One Look Better
by Tricked Wings
Summary: When one has a total dollophead for a teacher one semester, thinks one gets rid of him the next, and it turns out that one is, again, forced to endure his complete incompetence and inability to teach, one can tend to be a little frustrated and irritated. Actually, scratch that. The frustration and irritation are made maximum. - Student/Teacher!High School AU


**Author's Note: Yes, I am working on 'The Modern Misadventures of Merlin', but that's a side thing that is nothing but crack, and it gives me something to write while on writer's block. **

**This little plot-bunny, however, would not leave me alone. I just hope someone can enjoy it. **

**This fic will get to be at least rated 'R', and Merlin is underage, as he's only 15-16, so just a warning for those of you who are triggered by such things.**

**Unbeta'd, per usual for me.**

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Utter Frustration and Irritation Never Made One Look Better

_-Part One-_

Merlin was completely, utterly, entirely, and irrevocably frustrated, irritated, and exasperated beyond what he believed to be humanly possible. He squarely frowned at the test before him, and he knew that the teacher for this class expected him to answer slowly, and contemplate every word he scrawled on the off-white paper that had seen fit to be spotted with black ink speckles while in the copier. Merlin hated this class beyond all logical comprehension. It was stupid, useless, and if he wanted to know anything about tobacco- good or bad- he could just Google it as soon as he arrived home. He did not have to go to a _health_ class with a bunch of _freshmen_, for God's sake.

Not to mention that his teacher was the single Physical Education teacher he could not _stand_. Pendragon.

_Mr._ Pendragon was the son of _Principal_ Pendragon, and that entire family was a bunch of prattish assholes, if one were to ask Merlin what he thought of them. Not to mention stupid on the younger Pendragon's behalf. Not fifteen minutes before, Merlin had asked Pendragon if he could sit in the back for this particular test- he despised when people cheated off of him- and the teacher had responded with a "What?" And not a "what" as in the sarcastic, 'don't even think about it' what that Merlin was used to hearing from his eigth block instructor. No, that had been a genuine 'what are you talking about I don't understand'.

The brunet scowled harder at the sorry excuse for a test, and messily circled 'T' for 'true' about the first statement. Following this action, his inner thought-monologue continued; it decided to crank out more complaints about the blond sitting at his desk in the front of the class.

Arthur Pendragon had been Merlin's P.E. teacher for the previous semester, which had ended just five short weeks ago, right before the winter holidays. He never appreciated him then, as he always expected Merlin how to play the sports he decided the class should play, and generally Merlin had no idea what he was doing. As well, he always made them do runs that Merlin particularly hated. Thus, he already disliked Pendragon, and this class just proved to add on to the already-growing pile of disdain.

It had started on the very first day of the second semester. Merlin, albeit begrudgingly, had walked into the university-esque room that the worst class in the history of mankind was to be taught in. He had really regretted neglecting to take Health his freshman year- there he had been, a sophomore, and around him had been freshmen going on about their goals in life. Apparently a lot of them had felt that it was graduation requirement to get in someone's pants.

Merlin, who had been thoroughly disgusted at the time, had strolled up to the front row, and had taken a seat about halfway down the set of theatre seats. He had coolly placed his backpack beside him, having wanted to keep up the façade of chilled distance between the class and himself. He'd, after all, had seniority over all these exuberant fourteen-year-olds, and, as far as he had been concerned, a step of intelligence over the teacher.

Yes, Merlin had been expecting a rather easy class. The classwork was more than likely going to be stuff he already knew, and the teacher, well... Merlin could put up with Pendragon as long as he stayed out of his way and allowed him to do his work.

Unfortunately for Merlin, fortune favours the bold and gives permission to it's cousin, misfortune, to swallow up others who simply wish to get by in life without a hassle. The problem was, despite the fact that Mr. Pendragon provided endless frustration that would drive Merlin absolutely bonkers, he was a _very_ attractive man. In fact, he looked as though he could still be in high school himself, as a senior. He was, in fact, twenty-six, but every girl in the school squealed about how he appeared to be no older than eighteen. And sadly enough, Merlin himself could see why the blond teacher was at the centre of a third of the school's sexual fantasies.

Pendragon, for all of his stupidity and lack of common sense, was a staple in Merlin's... questionable fantasies as well. At least every other night a dream involving Merlin bent over his desk after-school and him doing and saying incredibly filthy- beyond filthy- things to him, and Merlin _hated_ it. He hated the fact that he could not get Pendragon out of his head, out of his mind; especially, it seemed, out of his dreams.

That was truly why Merlin had no longer wanted him as a teacher, in all honesty. He had not wanted to be forced to face Pendragon every single day after waking from a dream a handful hours before where Mr. Pendragon was no longer, as every student called him, Pendragon- he was _Arthur_. The way the given name of his teacher would role off his tongue, would be caught in his breath, in his throat, and be released, stained with lust, was something that Merlin had to put to the back of his mind whenever he wasn't alone.

That was why, after he'd taken a seat and the late bell had sounded, it had been official that the class he was about to sit through was going to be his least favourite of all. What had followed that event of taking a seat on that fateful day was the stupid, what-should-be-horrendous-not-completely-attractive smirk that had followed Merlin's name as Pendragon had taken roll. He had glanced up, stormy blue eyes locking with Merlin, and had given him a funny little smirk. A smirk that Merlin had not, no matter how hard he tried, been able to match an emotion to.

For a brief moment, Merlin had contemplated the thought that perhaps Pendragon _knew_ about Merlin's... less than pure imagination when it came to him. However, Merlin had quickly dismissed the idea, certain that there was no possible way he could have any clue. He was oblivious to everything; especially the _despise_ Merlin held for him.

So Merlin had seen fit to carry on with his life as normal, with the exception of Health, in which he tried very hard not to stare at the teacher that was directly before him.

The only one who knew about the spite Merlin carried for Pendragon was his best friend, Gwen. She was a freshmen, but Merlin had gone to middle school and elementary with her almost his entire life, and she was one of the sweetest people he'd ever met. She was also the only person who knew Merlin's secret- the secret that wasn't really a secret, but he preferred to not have anyone know. The only thing she _didn't_ know about as far as Merlin was concerned was his... Hell, he didn't even know how to put it... his _thing_ for Pendragon.

Sadly, Gwen had this class with him, and was always happy to assist Merlin in keeping tabs on Pendragon's exact actions. She sat several rows behind him- the one's that Merlin was sure Pendragon watched the most- yet somehow she'd managed to slip out her phone and send Merlin a text that he rather wouldn't have received.

_He's staring at u_ her text read as Merlin peeked at the iPhone laying on the ground beside his chair. Merlin felt a light blush creeping onto his face, and he hoped that Gwen would think it was his face being red with irritation rather than because of, well, whatever the actual reason was.

Merlin stole a glance at Pendragon, who caught his eye. Studying him for a second, Merlin didn't look away, which apparently raised question in the teacher.

"What?" Pendragon asked, hushed, as the class was still taking a test. "I don't have the answers written on my face," he continued, obviously thinking he was being funny, if the amused look on his face was any indication.

After giving Pendragon a prompt scowl, Merlin turned his attention back towards the test, realising they had been in class for about twenty minutes and he'd done nothing but answer the first four 'true or false' problems. He quickly circled 'a' on the multiple-choice question that was number five, before he heard the quiet *ping of his phone going off again.

_What was that about? U ok?_ read another message from Gwen. Merlin didn't dare pick up his phone and text back, lest he be caught by Pendragon and accused of giving answers. Rather, Merlin ignored it and circled 'c', ignoring the fact that he could feel Pendragon's eyes on him once again.

If how the first three weeks of this semester had gone, it was going to be _long_ semester for Merlin. He was going to make it his personal mission to figure out why Pendragon felt the need to pick on him out of all entire thirty students in his class.

_He's staring at u again._


End file.
